The silent house, bolted and closed, showed no signs of life when Lettice and her companion appeared before it. “Do you think your brother is here?” Mr. Baldwin asked.
“I hope so,” was the reply. “If we could go around by the back way, we might get in. The key will be in its usual place. Mrs. Gittings was particular that it should be, that her husband might be able to find it, in case he should return.” They made their way around to the rear of the house and discovered the key to the side door, where it had been left under an overturned flower-pot. They let themselves in and crept upstairs in the semi-darkness, going from room to room till they found in a heavy slumber, outstretched upon one of the beds, Lettice’s brother William.
“Poor fellow,” whispered the girl, “he is thoroughly worn out.”
She leaned over him, and he stirred slightly; then, conscious that some one was looking at him, he opened his eyes and started up, crying, “Halt! Who goes there?”
“Only your sister, brother dear,” Lettice answered.
“Lettice,” he exclaimed. “What are you doing here? What has happened? I thought you safely over the river by this time.”
“The wagon broke down, and Simon declared it would not carry so many, so I came back. Mr. Baldwin brought me.”
“Mr. Baldwin? Where did you encounter each other?” He peered around and perceived the figure standing in the doorway. “Come in, my dear fellow,” he exclaimed. “I owe you a debt for bringing this wayward little sister of mine safely here. Aha! you are wounded? Were you with the marines?”
“No, I was hurt in an engagement down the bay some weeks ago and have been on the invalid list ever since. We beat them that time,” he concluded quietly.
“You are fortunate in having so honorable a result. I wish I could say the same.”